I’m having a hard time “getting going” this morning. I woke up like normal, made breakfast, spent time praying, reading, journaling etc. But that didn’t feel satisfying for some reason. I started a new grief book I just got in the mail. And, even though line after line was describing bits and pieces of what my heart has felt over the past few months, I didn’t have that sucked-in feeling. I kept wanting to put it down and go to something else. Emails distracted me for a bit, but now I’m here. Still searching in a way.
I should have already been for a run by now.
I just feel unsettled. Even though I have cried a few times today, I don’t really feel sad. Thinking about her is even making me feel a little happy, actually. It’s still mixed with longing, but the sadness isn’t taking over as much.
This is, actually, a certain part of things I feel robbed of. People enjoying her. People letting themselves enjoy her. And, even now, people remembering her with joy. I know if I had a healthy baby, my conversations would be sprinkled with stories of what she did yesterday, or a week ago, or remembering how cute it was when she did this or that, or how tiny she was when she was first born, or how cute the noises were that she made. But, everyone – including Adam & I – are afraid to talk about those happy moments we remember. And, I just hate that. I hate that it feels hard to just say, “Remember how she would sleep with one arm up and one arm down…that was so cute.” I wish we could say that without sadness being attached. If she were here, playing on the carpet right now I could say that and it would bring all these warm fuzzy’s of remembering her as a teeny-tiny baby. I feel robbed of getting to remember with joy and fondness, because it seems to always be attached to grief. That doesn’t feel fair.
Well, shoot, now I’m sad.
It doesn’t feel fair to have a 6 inch scar on my abdomen and no baby to hold. And what feels even less fair is that it is all keloid-ed, so it looks like I have an earth worm crawling towards my belly button!
Ok, not crying anymore – that’s a little funny. Still gross though.
Now, I’m feeling ridiculous – because of course none of it is “fair”. That’s not what it’s really about, even though it feels so strongly like I’m owed something.
C.S. Lewis says something clever, “Die before you die. There is no chance after.”
I feel like after typing that I can hear him say, “Really? That’s what you’re going to quote me saying? I had a lot more clever moments than that!”
But, it’s true. A lot of this pain is fueled by my self-entitlement. Would the pain still feel so great if I had already “died” and truly released my rights to my life? It’s like a double portion of pain. I hurt because of what happened and I hurt because I wish what happened, didn’t happen! That sounds insane, but kind of how it feels.
It’s really very tiring, because I feel at times, not only do I just feel a lot of pain, but I’m also having to sift through what is pain that is a result of losing Brooklyn and what is the pain that is a result of my sin? It feels like there is an anti-dote of sorts for the later type of pain, but maybe feeling that pain is the only way the self is truly crushed?
Ok, my brain hurts. But I do feel more settled. Maybe this is what I was being led to process through. The depths of what’s going on in the human heart is unbelievable. And, to think we all drive cars and function at jobs (well, not me – but some) and remember to eat (also, sometimes not me – but most) and shower (well…you know where this parenthesis is going…) It’s all pretty fascinating. It’s all of us, without exception. Whether you would consider yourself an ‘introspective’ person who draws this stuff out or not, it’s there. Whether you journal because it’s your medicine or you don’t because it feels like poison, there’s so much swimming in the depths of our hearts. And, now you’re all thinking…maybe she succumbed to the drugs? Nope, just feeling philosophical I guess. But, I’m going to allow myself to be done now.
The logic distracts me from the feeling. But the undercurrent is always there. Missing and longing roll in with the tide. Sometimes it almost sounds pleasant.